


The Contract

by Dragestil



Series: Lightning in the City [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: DFaB Strife, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Trans Male Character, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:57:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragestil/pseuds/Dragestil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will had dreamed of escaping to the city ever since he was old enough to know about the place where magic thrived. At eighteen, he hoped he would finally be able to find a place for himself, and a way to become the man he had always dreamed of being. Can a kindly sidhe offer sincere help, though?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Contract

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my Tumblr eight months ago. It's finally getting updated and put over here. I am still under zero impressions it's any good, but it was very important (and difficult) for me to write. So here it is. The first bit is sort of written in fast forward, with the second half going at normal speed. I still don’t know what this is.

It was all _wrong_ \- the gentle slope of his shoulders, the width of his hips, the lilt in his voice when he talked to strangers for the first time. It made him sick to think about, and he forced himself to stop for a while, to live in the imaginary world where none of those things bothered him. Sometimes he could tolerate the delusions for a while; sometimes he couldn’t bear them at all.

He knew there were people like him out there. He’d read the desperate messages and the steady reassurances passing through the Internet. He had caught the ghosts of broadcast specials about kids who stopped puberty to do it differently. His parents had never watched those sorts of things themselves. It wasn’t that they were actively intolerant, only that their passive indifference became more stifling than any outright hate. When he turned eighteen, he bolted.

In a shitty convenience store restroom, he cut his hair short. He piled on layers and layers of clothing to hide his shape. On the way out, he bought a pair of sunglasses, and even though the sun was setting, he put them on. He hoped they would hide the redness of his eyes. He always heard how unmanly it was to cry.

Arriving in the city, he had nothing to his name. He was young and lost and alone in the sea of other magical folk. He followed the pulse in the wires to a clinic, pleaded for an appointment, promised he would pay as soon as he could. A tall, scruffy man cleared his throat loudly as he begged, and suddenly the nurse was asking for his information.

“I’m Strife,” the boy said, yelling at himself inside for the high pitch of his voice. After a second, he added, “My first name’s Will.”

The doctor who saw him later was kind. They went over the possible treatment plans and Will’s long term goals. He left with the promise that he would return the next day for his prescriptions and a lesson on taking hormones. The bearded man from before hailed him a cab. He didn’t think to question. He didn’t have anywhere else to go anyway. He asked the driver to come back in the morning to take him back to the clinic. Only when the car pulled away though did he realise he was in front of a towering building covered in vines.

\---

There was little technology around, or little that called to him anyway. The magic in him fluttered anxiously as he took a tentative step forward, and he knew he walked on hallowed grounds. The building’s doors opened wide. The man within seemed so unreal, even in a city full of the inexplicable.

“I’ve been expecting you,” a voice said, and though the stranger’s mouth moved, the sound seemed to emanate from within Will’s own head. “You are welcome to spend the night free of charge. We can sort out further accommodations when you are rested, when you feel more yourself.”

“Who are you?”

“A kindly sidhe, nothing more. The more important question is who are _you_?”

“Don’t you already know?”

“Only pieces, and none from the source. Come in, and tell me your story.”

Will’s feet obeyed before his mind had agreed. Despite the minimal electronic noise, static and power filled the air. He did not want to trust this man, this _fae_ , but he was already too drawn in to deny him outright. He sat at a table as the stranger poured hot water into a mug of loose tea.

“What is your name?” the boy finally thought to ask.

“Guests first, I insist. You are after all a stranger in my home.”

“I’m Will. Will Strife.”

“Are you, now? I am Kirin. Drink your tea,” the sidhe said, sitting opposite Will and pushing the steaming cup across to him. “Why are you here, Will?”

“I had to leave home.”

“And why Did you need to do that?”

“I needed to come to the city.”

“The city is quite nice, isn’t it? The magic is strong here, deep.”

“Why did a man tell a cab to take me here?”

“Because he knows I have been waiting, and he knows I can help you.”

“Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”

“I told you, I am just a kindly sidhe. You are my guest, and I can make sure you get what you need. Or do you have somewhere else to stay? Are there many free rooms in the city?”

Will almost wanted to run. He did not trust the sidhe’s shining eyes or the tail that he occasionally caught flicking behind the man. He did not trust free help, not from anyone. If there was one thing he knew, it was that solutions were never free.

“You would me, Will,” Kirin breathed, pressing a palm to his chest and putting on a forlorn expression. “If I wanted to hurt you, it would be effortless. This is my home. My magic flows through these walls. My power protects it. You would not be here if I did not wish it so. Do not confuse my generosity with weakness.”

“Why are you doing this? Any of this?”

“Because you could become great. Your potential,” Kirin stopped, inhaling deeply. “You could go very far here, Will. Not only I have seen as much. I can teach you a great many things, and what I cannot teach you myself, I can provide you with the best mentors for. Every young mage must have a master before they grow into themselves.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“All business I see.” Kirin folded his hands neatly on the table, and Will tried not to back down from the sidhe’s steady gaze. “I get your apprenticeship. I will provide your magical education and your housing. You will dedicate yourself to your work and help with anything I require your assistance for.”

“And what if I decided to leave?”

“Now Will, you wouldn’t go breaking a contract, would you?”

“How long?”

“Until your training is complete. Do we have a deal?” Kirin asked, extending a hand that will suddenly realised had been drawing a circle on the table between them.

“I’ll hold you to this. Only until I’m trained, not a day longer,” Will said, determination fighting back against his nerves as he reached forward to shake the sidhe’s hand.

“It is a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Strife.”

 


End file.
